Bonds at War: The Untouched is Mine novel Chapter 386

Attachment 386 Summary

Jaxon leads Abel to the back of his large house, lighting a cigarette and offering one to Abel, who declines. Their conversation is tense and loaded with unspoken reasons for Abel’s visit. Jaxon hints that Abel wouldn’t have come without purpose, and Abel reflects on a painful memory from his youth—attending a party at Jaxon’s family home where he felt out of place, judged, and unwelcome. The memory centers on a young Jaxon offering Abel a plate of food that contrasted with the cold, pretentious atmosphere, but the moment is abruptly ended by a disapproving woman who forbids Jaxon from associating with Abel.

Abel recalls how that day marked a turning point, leading him and his father to sever ties with Jaxon’s family and the toxic social games they played. The memory stirs conflicted emotions as Abel faces Jaxon again, unsure how to proceed. The weight of the past and the present collide, especially with the urgent thoughts of someone named Luna and the desperate situation surrounding her health and unborn child.

The conversation shifts to a grim negotiation. Jaxon mocks Abel’s hesitation and reveals a ruthless desire to claim a title, proposing to give it up only if Abel hands over Luna. Jaxon’s confidence and cruelty contrast sharply with Abel’s protective instincts and the painful reality of Luna’s condition. Abel grapples with the impossible choice—surrender Luna to save her or risk losing everything.

In the end, Abel, driven by love and desperation, makes a devastating decision. Despite the cost, he agrees to Jaxon’s terms, offering Luna in exchange for Jaxon relinquishing the title. The chapter closes on this heavy, heart-wrenching agreement, underscoring the deep conflicts and sacrifices Abel faces.

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ABEL

Jaxon flicked a cigarette to life as he guided me toward the back of their sprawling house. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, the smoke curling and twisting around us like ghostly ribbons in the dim light.

Without glancing my way, he held out the cigarette between two fingers.

“Want one?” he asked casually.

I shook my head, keeping quiet.

A sly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “More for me, then.”

He took another long drag, the ember glowing bright for a moment, and then leaned back against the cool brick wall. The silence stretched between us, heavy and expectant.

Finally, he broke it. “Well?” His voice was low, teasing, yet edged with something sharper. “You wouldn’t have shown up here without a reason.”

I lifted my gaze to meet his eyes. That familiar smirk was there again—the one that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or deadly serious.

“Though,” he added with a shrug, “I appreciate the delay. I don’t want to be inside anymore.”

He nodded toward the dining room window, where muffled voices and faint laughter drifted through the thick walls. “The roast beef’s starting to taste a little too bloody for my liking.”

I stayed silent, my eyes dropping to the worn floorboards beneath my feet. I knew exactly why I was here. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Yet, the words caught in my throat; I wasn’t ready to say them aloud just yet.

My gaze drifted down the hallway, past the doorway, to a spot I remembered well—the place where I had stood all those years ago. The memory came rushing back, vivid and sharp.

I was just fourteen then. My father had insisted we attend the gathering. He said it was a matter of respect, though I suspected it was because it was the first time he’d been invited to such an event. He was genuinely excited.

Jaxon’s family had thrown a grand party, inviting every relative to celebrate their only son’s birthday.

I hated every second of it.

Every pair of eyes in that room followed me like I’d brought dirt into their pristine world. Even then, they had already decided who I was.

I stood alone by the long buffet table, pretending to be interested in the food. Everything looked perfect, but none of it tasted like anything. I picked at the dishes that seemed most appetizing, but when I took them out onto the balcony, the flavor made me want to retch. It was a pitiful excuse for a meal.

Then, a small voice interrupted me.

“Here.”

I turned to see a boy, barely reaching my waist, holding out a small plate. His dark hair was tousled, and his eyes held a depth far beyond his four years. It was as if he saw through all the pretenses in the room.

It was Jaxon.

“What are you doing here, kid?” I asked, more curious than anything.

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he frowned and pointed at the plate I’d been holding. “The food you picked is bad,” he said with surprising seriousness. “This one’s from the kitchen staff, made with my mom’s recipe. The ones on this plate are from my nanny. She makes them better.”

He spoke with such certainty that I found myself unable to argue.

I looked at him for a moment, then down at the plate in his hands.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Try it.”

I hesitated, then accepted the plate. I picked up one of the pastries and took a bite.

It was… good.

Not fancy or perfect, but warm and tender, buttery soft.

I glanced back at him. “You’re right. This one’s better.”

He crossed his arms, a proud little smirk on his face. “Told you.”

Even then, there was a cockiness about him, an unshakable confidence that he was always right.

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